Wonder Woman and Superman in Beard of War
by NWHS
Summary: This story is a sequel to "It's the Beard." More, it's a story that explores briefly what it means for Diana to be the God of War, and is a standalone read.


Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

 **Beard of War**

* * *

Clark was right, Diana thought, snuggling deep under the covers. His bed was warm. And now that he'd left to see who had knocked on his door, a small selfish part of Diana regretted encouraging Clark to see what his unexpected visitor wanted from him. The big bed wasn't the same without her Clark in it, holding Diana and making her feel loved, desired, and utterly special.

The door to the apartment closed.

Diana peeked her head from under the covers, not so much listening to Clark speak to his female neighbor, but to the news report coming from the bedroom of the neighbor next door to Clark.

She sat up in bed, a sudden frown on her face. While she didn't enjoy hearing a woman stumble over a subtle but clear invitation to Clark to "get to know him better," that wasn't what had Diana tossing back the covers and scrambling out of bed.

Naked, hair wild, and ears alert, she listened to the report.

"Over the last ten years, two million children have been killed in conflict. Over one million have been orphaned, over six million have been seriously injured or permanently disabled and over ten million have been left with serious psychological trauma."

The more she overheard Clark's neighbor, Sheila Valentine, proposition Clark, albeit in a tasteful way, the more agitated she became at the news reports crowding her head.

"War affects every aspect of a child's development. Children affected by armed conflict can be injured or killed, uprooted from their homes and communities, internally displaced or refugees, orphaned or separated from their parents and families, subjected to sexual abuse and exploitation, victims of trauma as a result of being exposed to violence, deprived of education and recreation, at risk of becoming child soldiers. It is highly probable that children living in conflict areas will be deprived of basic needs such as shelter, food and medical attention. In addition, relief for children tends to be the last priority in war, resulting in insufficient or no protection for minors. Besides, children are, due to their physical constitution and growth, most vulnerable to being deprived of food, medical assistance and education, which has a severe and lasting impact on their development."

Diana's frown deepened, at the report and the conversation between Clark and his neighbor. Clark was more than capable of handling Ms. Valentine, though, and her sudden interest in him. At that thought, Diana's frown slid into a shallow smile. Yes, she understood quite well the woman's newfound romantic interest in Clark Kent.

As the report from the neighbor's blaring television continued, the small smile disappeared.

"Since 1998 there have been armed conflicts involving child soldiers in at least 36 countries. However, the traumatic scars left on children are just one of a vast aftermath of post war problems: refugees, food shortages and mourning for lost relatives. Former child soldiers may at best have their needs forgotten and at worst be blamed by their communities for what happened."

Diana's frown returned, the conversation between Clark and his would-be suitor nearly forgotten under the weight of more pressing matters.

"Children from poor and disadvantaged families who are seeking physical support, revenge for their losses or the sense of belonging are particularly vulnerable to exploitation during conflict. Other children are kidnapped and forced to become fighters. It is estimated that over the last 15 years 10,000 children have been abducted by the Lord's Resistance Army around Gulu in northern Uganda, alone. Children are deliberately targeted as they are manipulated more easily than adults and can be indoctrinated to perform crimes and atrocities without asking questions."

By the time the news reporter began discussing the report on child soldiers, Diana was in Clark's dining/living room. Finding her dress on the floor, she picked it up and tossed it onto the back of a dining room chair.

"The report is an agenda for action to end state use of child soldiers. It examines the record of states in protecting children from use in hostilities by their own forces and by state-allied armed groups. It finds that, while governments' commitment to ending child soldier use is high, the gap between commitment and practice remains wide."

Five seconds later, Diana gave way to Wonder Woman. Her uniform on, Lasso of Truth at her waist. Face set in a grim, determined line.

"The report argues that ending child soldier use by states is within reach but that achieving it requires improved analysis of "risk factors", and greater investment in reducing these risks, before the military use of girls and boys becomes a fact. Real prevention means tackling risk where it begins – with the recruitment of under-18s. A global ban on the military recruitment of any person below the age of 18 years – long overdue – must be at the heart of prevention strategies, but to be meaningful it must be backed by enforcement measures that are applied to national armies and armed groups supported by states."

She glanced at Clark's closed apartment door. He was still out there, speaking with Ms. Valentine.

"I didn't interrupt your writing, did I?" Diana heard the woman ask.

No she hadn't, although her knock had been intrusive. Clark hadn't been truthful when he'd implied that he'd been writing an article when he'd answered the door. And Ms. Valentine had, apparently, just figured out what she'd actually interrupted.

But it was for the best. Diana's mind no longer on spending a nice, quiet night alone with Clark.

For a second, Diana considered waiting for Clark to finish turning Ms. Valentine down and return to his apartment. But she had no idea how long that would take, and time was of the essence. She could feel them, those child soldiers crying out in fear, pain, and anger. Crying out for the God of War.

She would go to them. Those children, whether she liked it or not, belonged to her. Children they may be, but they lived, killed, and died as soldiers. Which made them all, from Burma to the Sudan to Syria to Nepal, Diana's soldiers, the God of War's responsibility.

Knowing he would hear her, as clearly as she could hear him and the neighbor's television, Diana spoke aloud. "There's an emergency I must take care of, Clark. Don't wait up for me. I'll return as soon as I can."

He wouldn't like it, Diana not telling him exactly where she was going. But the path walked by the God of War wasn't one made for Superman to follow.

With no other thought than reaching the young soldiers, Diana flew from Clark's apartment. Her speed inhumanly fast. Not a sound made, just a ripple in the air where Wonder Woman had once been.

* * *

Minutes later, Diana hovered in Somalia airspace. Diana knew this place, had been there before. But never like today, never as the God of War. South and Central Somalia had been the scene of armed conflict since the collapse of Siad Barre's government twenty years ago. Children born in this part of Somalia had never known respect for human rights, peace, the rule of law and an effective government. While armed conflict had devastated Somali society as a whole, children, who represent more than half the estimated population of Somalia have been particularly vulnerable to its impact.

Darkness surrounded Diana, as she made her descent. The last two decades of this country, marked by conflict between warlords and clans competing for resources, have seen the disintegration of public services and have taken a massive toll on the provision of healthcare and education to the Somali population, their access to food, water and other basic amenities.

When she landed, Mogadishu, Somalia, her destination when she left Clark's apartment, Diana wasn't surprised to find dozens of rifles pointed at her and a neighborhood devastated by war. Their civil war had ruined this once beautiful city, leaving little but tears, anger, and hollow dreams. Bombed and bullet-riddled buildings were everywhere, as were dark, mistrusting eyes.

She scanned the sea of faces glaring at her. From behind shelled buildings, open windows, and burned cars, the forms of lost but dangerous souls glared at her, guns raised and threatening.

But Diana feared none of them. They knew, understood, even if they didn't agree. No weapon in their arsenal could harm her, and only the extraordinarily foolish among them would dare to test their might against the God of War.

"Why are you here?"

Diana didn't bother turning in the direction of the disgruntled man who'd yelled from his hiding spot. His Arabic a hostile snarl of snapped words and undeniable fear. He thought himself the undisputed leader of this band of murderers and rapists. But he was wrong.

"I asked, why are you here? You don't belong—"

Diana raised a single hand and the man fell silent. She did turn then, speaking in perfect Arabic. The language of these soldiers. The God of War, as Diana had come to understand, could speak the language of all her soldiers. Language no barrier between her and those who fought and died in wars and military conflict, no matter how just or unjust the violent engagement.

"I go where I please. More, I go where I must. Now lower your weapons."

Unable to resist her command, dozens of rifles clattered to the dusty ground. The soldiers stared at her in disbelief and wonder. But no one spoke, not even General Musse, who thought himself above reproach. Who, right now, despised Diana because she was a woman he had absolutely no control over. The horrible man was an open book to Diana. Reading the minds of soldiers a god power Diana had yet to get used to, although it made her interactions with men like General Musse easier to handle.

On her descent, Diana had spotted a neighborhood school about seven blocks from there.

"Come," she said. She began walking in the direction of the school.

A moment later, footsteps sounded behind her. They spilled from the buildings, soldiers she hadn't seen because they weren't out on the street. But she'd known they were there, hiding in the darkness.

"They aren't yours," General Musse yelled after Diana. "They belong to me. I raised them. They're my men, my soldiers, and you can't have them."

Diana took another step, and then halted. "Think very carefully, General, before you utter another word. Be grateful that I came here tonight for them instead of for you. None of them belong to you. First and foremost, they belong to themselves. Then to their parents. And finally to me."

But Diana knew most of their parents were long dead, while those who weren't were too weak to oppose someone like the despotic bully behind her. A manipulative, opportunistic bastard Bruce would call General Musse. And he would be right.

Diana began walking again, her soldiers behind her. "I suggest you don't interfere," she threw over her shoulder, not missing a step or giving the man the respect of turning to face him. He deserved none. "If you do, you won't like my response."

No he wouldn't, for Diana knew the taint of the man's soul. And the depth of his depravity toward anyone he considered an enemy. And the worthless, amoral creature was hers, as much as the ones following her out of the beleaguered neighborhood and toward a school that looked as if it had seen much better days, were hers.

An ugly business, the cruel art of war, turning men into monsters, women into victims, and children into pawns.

Once at the school, a one-level brick building that could accommodate about five hundred students, Diana stopped.

She turned, finally, to face her soldiers. And there, in front of her were fifty-five Somali males between the ages of twelve and sixteen. Without their rifles, knives, and scowls, they looked like the children they were. But there was also a hardness to the brown eyes that stared out from their depressed sockets. A hardness that ran the width and breadth of their thin yet toned bodies.

Children but not quite. Soldiers in action and deed, but also lost children in need of saving, of reforming, even of forgiving.

Instead of going inside the school, Diana continued around the building until she'd reached the back. The child soldiers spilled around Diana and onto the playground, sitting on benches, swings, and sun-ravaged grass. Some simply stood, leaning against a wall of the building. No matter where they decided to sit or stand, all of them had their eyes firmly on the woman who'd led them to this place.

For several minutes, Diana said nothing, taking the time to meet the appraising and awed eyes of each young male. With each look, she read their story in their eyes. By the time she reached the fifty-fifth child, her hands were balled into fists and tears were in her eyes.

For their pain.

For their loss.

For their victims

This wasn't the way of childhood, even for an Amazon trained in many deadly arts. Yet Diana could've been one of them. She'd possessed the raw power to deny life when she was the age of these boys. If circumstances were different, her fighting skill and naïve heart and mind could've been manipulated and used to kill. To go against what she knew to be right, to be just, and to be free and happy.

Kneeling in the center of them, Diana said two words: "Tell me."

One.

Two.

Three.

One after another, they told Diana their story. Whatever was on their young hearts and minds they wanted the God of War to know, they shared.

And Diana listened. Fighting back the tears, being as strong as the boys who'd suffered more than any person should.

"Two of my brothers were killed in February 2013. One day they were going to Bakara market and war broke out. They got caught in the cross-fire. Their names were Abdullahi, who was 18 and Akbar, who was 14. When the fighting stopped we had to run to the market to pick up their bodies."

"We came here with our mother and five other people. We came from Karan district in Mogadishu. We left because of the bullets. We had to run away from the big bombs. Our village was constantly being bombarded from the other side. We couldn't even get home sometimes."

"In 2014 two friends of mine were going to a nearby farm on the outskirts of Mogadishu and they were caught by the insurgents. They killed one of my friends as he came from the government side. They were preparing to kill the other one when TFG troops fired, so the child ran away; he was killed in cross fire. Their names were Khanio, who was 17 years-old, and Abdiakin, who was 12."

As the boys spoke and Diana listened, her heart in her throat, the boys began to crowd around Diana. One by one, they sat, in a huge circle surrounding the God of War. And still they spoke, many shedding tears as they unburdened themselves, confessing their sins among brothers who understood because they had their own sins of war.

"I was taken from my village to one of al-Shabab's training camps. I was held in the training camp for two weeks with other boys my age. I was just 10 years old. Al-Shabab used other children to lure me and others into joining them."

"There is a place where they keep children, where al-Shabab tried to make me go. They used to come to the blocks where we were living and they would take children so that they could keep them and make them fight. Al-Shabab told me that they would kill me if I didn't come with them. They asked me three times to go with them. The fourth time I went, too scared to refuse again."

"The young men are recruited. Adults are forced by al-Shabab to carry guns. They also force people from 15 to 17 years old. They always do these recruitment campaigns. They disseminate information that men between such and such ages should come forward for fighting. If you are forced you have no option but to carry the gun. You cannot escape as they have their "generals" monitoring you. The way they recruit is that they talk to the elders and tell them that they need to reinforce their army. The elders in our area always respond that they cannot force someone to fight. Some people also join because of money, as they are being paid salaries to fight."

"People would tie a bomb to their bodies and they would be told to go to the TFG centers and then the bomb would explode. This happened to our friend Hussein who was 16 years old. He was made him do this."

"No one cares about us. The world doesn't care. They think we are hopeless and uncivilized. We no longer go to school, have no future beyond the rifles we carry. We sleep with them. Guns are our best friends, our family. They don't lie, leave you, or die."

One of the boys, no older than twelve or five feet tall, sat directly to Diana's right, ran a hand over his cherub face. "I wish I had a beard." A couple of the older boys around him laughed. "Don't make fun of me, I do. All strong men have beards. General Musse has a beard and he runs this area. He is strong. I want to be strong so no one will ever make me do what I don't want to do ever again."

Reaching out, Diana also ran her hand over the boy's baby soft cheek. "Having a beard does not make one strong. And you can do much, much better than General Musse as a role model. When you are strong" –Diana turned her eyes to the crowd at large, speaking loud enough so all could hear—"you have a responsibility to those who are weaker than you. That responsibility is protection. Only weak men use their might to frighten and to subjugate. That's called cowardice, not strength and certainly not manhood."

Some of the boys nodded, but not nearly as many as she'd hoped. Still, they'd lived this existence for far too long. Boys thrust into the hard, violent world of men, money, and politics, mentally unprepared to grapple with such brutal, inhumane realities. She couldn't expect such quick compliance and change of hearts.

"I have a friend who has a beard," Diana informed the gathered child soldiers.

"Is he strong?" Ahmed asked. He touched his cheek again, and then looked at Diana before dropping his hand to his lap. "Is your friend a strong man, War?"

"He is a _good_ man, Ahmed, which is far better than being a strong man."

"But no one cares about good men," Fahmo said, his short, stocky frame and deep voice echoing through the late night air. "My father, uncle, and older brothers were good men. But they're dead. General Musse is not a good man, but he's alive because he's a strong man. A powerful man few in this area would oppose."

"You're only partially right. I won't tell you that power and strength aren't important. They are, but they must be tempered with love, peace, and justice. My friend with the beard believes and fights for all, especially the rights and protection of those weaker than himself."

Diana now regretted not asking Clark to accompany her. These boys needed more than the heart and ear of the God of War. They needed to see and hear from a male who exemplified what it meant to be a real man. A male with power who wielded his might for good. A good man like Fahmo's father, uncle, and older brothers.

But Diana's expectations weren't lofty ones. Changing these children's hearts and minds would take more than a single heart-to-heart. More, the dynamics in this country had to also change, which required a great deal of humanitarian attention. So much needed to change to alter the trajectory of the life of these child soldiers.

As God of War, there was much she could do. But there was also so much she could not. This wasn't a fight any one person could do alone. This, Diana understood.

Tonight, however, Diana had two choices. She could turn General Musse over to the authorities and leave the boys there. The problem with that option was that General Musse was but one man. Others would soon take his place, even if Diana took care of Musse's entire band of soldiers. Also, despite Musse's unlawful methods, the boys relied on him to feed and to house them. They had no family to take care of them.

The second option was to take the boys with Diana, turning them over to Amnesty International. Some may not wish to go, although she could compel them to leave this place and go with her. She hated to force her will on anyone, especially children who'd already had too many adults do the same.

Once more, Diana met the eyes of each child, searching their hearts in a way reminiscent of her lasso. A magical element she didn't have to use on these boys, so brutally honest were they in their storytelling and interaction with Diana and each other.

Diana stood. She'd seen two buses parked in front of the school. They'd had better days, tires slashed or wheels gone, bullet holes throughout and evidence of fire. But, for the most part, they were still intact. At least in good enough shape for what she had in mind.

"I know this is the country of your birth and you've known no other home. But, right now, this place isn't the kind of home you need or deserve. What I offer will not erase the pain of your loss of family and innocence or the blood that stains your hands. Yet I give you a choice. Decide your path. Decide what kind of man you wish to be. If you think having a beard makes you a man, then you can choose to don a beard of war or you can don a beard of love, of peace, of justice."

With that, Diana walked through the crowd of boys. They parted, permitting her to pass. She made her way to the front of the school and the school buses. Diana didn't look back to see how many of her fifty-five child soldiers had followed her.

She truly hoped all would. For when she returned to this place, for General Musse and his men, Diana would deal with anyone who stood in her way of bringing peace and order to this besieged city and country. As God of War, she would abide no more child soldiers. In this country or any other.

Ripping off what was left of the doors to the buses, Diana turned. And fifty-five war weary boys lumbered toward her. Without uttering a word, they piled onto the buses. Ahmed, the straggler of the bunch, stopped in front of Diana.

Warm, brown eyes stared up at her. "Where are you going to take us?"

"London. Amnesty International's global headquarters is located there."

They wouldn't be able stay there very long. And there were a multitude of legal issues Diana would have to take care of before she found the boys a permanent place to settle. The main obstacle being bringing undocumented children into the UK. She would contact her lawyer and get her on this delicate immigration issue right away.

"Are you just going to drop us off and leave?"

What little Ahmed really wanted to know was whether Diana was going to abandon them. She couldn't help but wonder how many other adults in Ahmed's short life had abandoned the child, to death or countless other harsh fates of life in Somalia.

She caressed his cheek again, not able to see him as a grown man with a beard. Then again, until Clark had grown a beard, she hadn't been able to envision him with one either. Yet, Clark Kent looked amazing in a beard. She thought, perhaps Ahmed would too, one day.

"I will have to leave for a few hours, but I'll return. And I'll keep returning until none of you need me again."

"We'll always need the God of War."

No the boys wouldn't. At least Diana hoped they wouldn't. If they did, she prayed they would be soldiers on the front lines of righteousness instead of terrorism.

Diana picked Ahmed up and put him on the bus.

"Are you all ready?"

Vigorous nods and loud verbal agreement met her question. Using her lasso, Diana tied the buses side-by-side. Lifting them, she made her way upward, away from Somalia and toward London.

* * *

Several hours later, she let herself into Clark's apartment. For once, using the key he'd given her. Unsurprisingly, Clark sat at his dining room table. Across from him, in the same spot where she'd had the wonderful beef stew for dinner, was a steaming plate of what looked to be a huge helping of scrambled eggs, bacon, grits, toast, and a cup of coffee.

Smiling at the handsome man in the blue robe, Diana peeled off the trench coat that concealed her Wonder Woman armor. She also removed her boots, leaving both near the front door.

"First dinner, and now breakfast." Diana moved to the kitchen, washing and drying her hands before joining Clark at the table. However, instead of sitting opposite him, Diana retrieved her breakfast plate and cup. Careful not to drop anything, Diana found the spot next to Clark and sat.

She leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. "Good morning."

Clark glanced past Diana and to his living room window. "The sun isn't even up yet. But five am definitely constitutes morning where I'm from."

Where Diana was from as well. Amazons started their day as early as Smallville farmers did.

"Sorry for taking so long. It couldn't be helped."

Clark pointed to Diana's untouched plate of food. "Eat first, talk later." Diana was about to say something about there being too much food on her plate when Clark arched one imperious eyebrow and said, "Don't make me tie you to the chair with your lasso and force you to eat every bite of what's on that plate."

"That's a bit dark for Superman, don't you think?"

He leaned in close, the mint from of his fresh breath tempting Diana to give him more than a quick kiss. "You left without telling me where you were going. I was worried about you, even though I know you can take care of yourself. Trust me, Di, you haven't seen my dark side. Now eat before the food gets cold."

Suddenly feeling quite hungry, Diana ate. Once she finished, Clark gave her a pleased smile. Then he slid a saucer with two slices of garlic bread in front of her.

She frowned.

Clark glared, and then nudged the saucer closer to Diana.

"You've got to be kidding me. I'm not eating that."

Clark plucked one of the pieces of bread from the plate, broke it in half and proceeded to try to shove the bread into Diana's mouth.

She pushed his hand away.

He tried again, getting crumbs all over her face as Diana deftly avoided the cold bread being shoved into her closed mouth.

They fell from their chairs, laughing as Clark made to grab for Diana's lasso. He didn't get it, but he did manage to pin Diana to the floor. His heavy body on top of her, and his luscious beard covered with just as many breadcrumbs as Diana's face and hair.

Diana didn't bother struggling. She had no problem with Clark's current position, no matter how dominant he believed himself to be. But there was something undeniably sexy about having Clark's massively strong and well-endowed body over top of her own.

"When I cook, I expect you to eat everything."

Diana gave a soft bark of laughter. "That will never happen, Clark. Some of those Midwestern dishes of yours are questionable at best. I still have no idea why I let you talk me into trying fried cheese curds."

"Insult Ma Kent's recipes at your peril, Diana." Clark lowered his face and began nuzzling Diana's neck. "Thank you for coming back instead of going home. You didn't have to, but I'm glad you did."

The neck exploration traveled to the top of her corset, where Clark's tongue darted out and tasted the swell of her breasts.

When he made to speak, she thought he would ask her where she'd run off to. But he didn't.

"How much of my conversation with Sheila Valentine did you hear?"

Blue eyes lifted and met hers. Concern showed in Clark's gaze. A concern that told Diana Clark hadn't known if the only reason she'd left was because of the emergency. When she'd flown off to Somalia, it hadn't occurred to Diana how her action might appear to Clark in light of what Ms. Valentine had asked him in the hallway.

Diana raised her hands and placed them in Clark's garlic bread infested beard, reminded of Ahmed and his desire for a beard of his own. And while Diana had gone to the boys as God of War, she and Clark rarely spoke of what it meant for Diana to be God of War. And part of that failing to talk about her new role in the Greek Pantheon, Clark had no true concept of her godly powers.

Yet even as a demi-god, Diana's hearing far exceeded that of a normal human. True, her senses were not on par with Superman's, but few beings' were. Even still, Diana managed quite well in the enhanced hearing department.

She grinned at her nervous boyfriend, who stared down at Diana with building anxiety the longer she took to answer his question.

Diana ran her fingers through his facial hair, enjoying being so close to the man she loved. "Is there something you want to tell me, Clark, about your conversation with your neighbor?"

Clark kissed the thumb that ran across his lips. "You heard everything, didn't you?"

"I did."

"Does it bother you?"

"That your neighbor finds you attractive and would like to get to know you better? I haven't really thought about it."

Clark snorted. "You have to think about whether you're jealous of another woman's attention to your boyfriend. I mean, she asked me out, Diana. That doesn't bother you?"

She kissed him, wiping away his shocked and annoyed pout with lips and tongue. Diana drew the kiss out, not wanting to think too much on how it had made her feel when Sheila Valentine had asked Clark out on a date.

When she finally released Clark, his eyes were heavy lidded with lust. As were her own.

"I don't care about Sheila Valentine or any other woman. You're mine Clark Kent, Superman, Kal-El, and no other woman may have you."

Clark's boyish, pleased grin brightened the room. "I like it when you talk like that."

"You probably shouldn't. It isn't the most becoming of Amazon traits."

He nuzzled her neck again, sucking and biting hard enough to leave love marks. "So, you want to tell me now or later?" Pushing her thighs apart and settling himself snuggly between her upraised legs, erection right where he wanted it and where Diana most needed him, it was pretty clear which one Clark wanted to do first.

So did Diana.

There were over 250,000 child soldiers throughout the world. And Diana intended to seek out each and every one of them. As she told General Musse, they all belonged to her. She wouldn't leave the child soldiers to fend for themselves. Children should not be soldiers. Should not be pressed into war. Should not be forced to rape and to kill just to survive.

Most of all, children should not be forgotten.

By their parents.

By their government.

By their neighbors.

By the world.

By the God of War.

"Will you go somewhere with me, Clark?" Diana asked, lifting them up off the floor and flying them toward Clark's bedroom.

"Of course. Just tell me when and where."

"So compliant. I like that in a male."

"Yeah, I just bet you do. Another bad Amazon trait?"

"Most definitely. Now strip off that robe and let me run my fingers through your beard."

"Again with the running fingers through my beard, Di," Clark complained, but made quick work of his robe.

When he came to her, Clark took his time undressing Diana. Then took even more time kissing and licking her, scraping that wonderful beard of his over every inch of her overheated and needy body.

The boys were being taken care of by the Amnesty International workers, so Diana could take a few hours for herself before she would return to check on them. And while she needed sleep, Diana needed Clark even more.

And, as usual, he didn't disappoint. His lovemaking as sweet, tender, and erotic as ever. She would miss his beard when he decided to eventually shave it off. But Diana also looked forward to seeing all of Clark's handsome face again. Like she'd told Ahmed, a beard did not make one a man. But it did, undoubtedly, make for one sexy as hell lover.

Okay, well, that part she would keep to herself the next time she saw young Ahmed.

But Ahmed, like the other boys, paid little attention to her. At least not once Superman strolled in behind her. The boys' eyes growing as big as saucers. Ahmed's the biggest of them all.

"You did not tell me your friend was Superman," Ahmed squealed. The child soldier having given way to the awestruck kid underneath.

Diana mouthed a "Thank you," to Clark, unable to breach the horde of adoring, clamoring boys surrounding him. Question after question on their tongues, eager to know all there was about the Man of Steel and being a superhero.

And Ahmed was front and center, his question one Diana could've guessed he would ask once he got a look at a bearded Superman.

"How long did it take you to grow that awesome beard, Superman?"

But it was Fahmo's question that had fifty-five boys, as well as Clark, turning their knowing gazes on Diana. "Do the ladies go wild over the macho beard or what, Superman?"

* * *

 **THE END**


End file.
